Past the Point of No Return
by Calla Mae
Summary: During a time when mysterious murders revolve around Edgar Allan Poe's writing, what happens when his sister is targeted by the killer? Will he be able to save her, will Detective Fields? Fields/OC
1. Prologue

_Rosalie Poe had just finished getting ready for the show when she heard someone yelling;_

"_I need to speak to Lee. She's my sister, let me back there." _

"_What is going on?" she asked over the guard's shoulder as he tried to restrain the man. _

"_Do you know this man, Miss Poe?" the guard asked. _

_She smiled placatingly at him. "Of course I do he's my brother," she answered simply, and that was all that was needed for Edgar to be allowed through. "What are you doing h-," _

"_Listen to me," he said interrupting her, grabbing her shoulders. "If anything is strange, anything at all; a funny look, a stranger; _anything_ Lee," Edgar said shaking her slightly in his fervent anxiety. _

"_Edgar what's wrong?" she asked growing worried, not used to seeing her brother like this. _

_He looked at her closely, seeing her pretty face that resembled his own in the briefest of moments. "A Murder at the Opera," he said softly. _

_She looked at him confused before realization dawned in her brown eyes. "You never published that story," she said just as quietly, praying that meant something. _

_They stood staring at one another, praying nothing would go wrong in tonight's show. "Anything, Lee," he whispered a last warning before kissing her cheek and leaving to sit in the theater. _

_She gathered herself, her blood pulsing with growing fear, before she looked up at the man who had been behind Edgar the whole time. "Will I be safe detective?" _

_Detective Fields looked down at her, seeing she was obviously distressing, hearing the slight tremor in her sweet voice. "We won't let anything happen to you, Miss Poe," he said squeezing her shoulder, holding her eyes for a moment before leaving her as well. _

"_The show will start in five minutes!" _

_Rosalie took a deep breath before going to a mirror and looking herself over, seeing her face had grown paler_. Everything will be alright,_ she said to herself. _Edgar is here, Detective Fields and other officers are here. Nothing will happen.

_She said this to herself over and over again as they lined up to go on stage. But her mantra meant little in the grand scheme of what would happen next. Staying true to Edgar's tale, in the final act of the opera, Rosalie Poe - a beautiful young woman such were all the women in Edgar's writing – was stabbed._

* * *

This is an idea I had after watching the Raven (and listening to Phantom of the Opera). Rosalie Poe was the name of Edgar Allan Poe's sister, however her character in my story is completely different than her actual life. This will be a Detective Fields x OC story, because lets face it Luke Evans is very handsome; and his character was great. Please let me know if you're interested in this story, because I'll put more effort into it if people do read it.


	2. a flower ere winter steals its breath

_Five days earlier_

Rosalie looked up at the dark house before stepping out of the carriage. "Thank you," she said to the Coachman who helped her down.

"Would you like me to carry your bag inside?" he asked politely.

She reluctantly tore her eyes away from the too spooky house. "No that is alright," she said kindly before taking her bag and walking up the front step. It had been a long while since she had been here, he had obviously let it go; though she figured he knew, and was glad, that his house now looked as though it were haunted. It was simply Edgar's style.

"Miss Poe," the maid servant Alice greeted her warmly. "I hope your travel went well," she said taking Rosalie's bag.

"It was well enough," Rosalie explained. "Thank you for sending a carriage."

"Of course," Alice said brushing off her thanks, "no problem at all. I know I am not the only one pleased you've returned for a visit."

Rosalie smiled. "Where is my brother?"

Alice's smile faltered. "He should be home from the newspaper office shortly, if he's remembered you come in today."

"He probably hasn't," Rosalie answered as she looked around the house. "I suppose he will come later, once he's gotten himself good and drunk."

The sadness in her voice was not missed. "Let me make you some supper," Alice said, fake cheerfulness in her voice. "You're getting awfully thin."

…

Rosalie had been right, Edgar did not come home until the wee hours of the morning – stinking of alcohol. He found her curled up on the sofa, one of his books on the floor from where it had fallen. He didn't rouse her. Instead he bent low to kiss her cheek and pulled the cover up higher before sitting in the chair beside her.

He studied her face, her sweet face with her brown doe eyes. Her head haloed in a mass of curls. She was the muse for many of the beautiful woman in his writings. Her and Virginia. Only Rosalie was alive and well sleeping next to him, his wife was dead. And he did not love Rosalie as much as he had Virginia; something they both knew very well.

"You did not wake me," Rosalie mumbled an hour before dawn, when the cawing of a crow had woken her.

"No," he said watching her eyes flutter – she truly was lovely. Not so lovely as Emily, but in her own right she was very beautiful. Especially when she sang. He waited until she turned her head to look at him, seeing she would not fall back asleep. "How long will you stay?"

"How long would you keep me?" she asked instead of answered, making a smile twitch on his mouth.

"If it were a choice," he said nearly groaning as he stood. She sat up and he took the place where her head had been and wrapped an arm around her. "You are as sweet as the last flower standing 'ere winter steals its breath. I would never let you go."

She smiled at his words, almost rolling her eyes at the poetic beauty of them. Even as he spoke to her he tried to sound a writer, sometimes it was touching – as it just was. Other times it was irritating.

"I missed you," he said softly, his nose pressed into her hair.

She looked up at him amused. "Did you?"

He smiled demurely. "A little," he admitted.

"Ah," she said, her brows raised and her lips forming a smile. "Or did you forget about me until I sent a letter."

"Hmm," he hummed pulling her closer, not answering what she had said was true. He held her until she had fallen asleep again, admitting to himself that he had actually missed her. She was a light in the darkness he cast around himself. He slipped away from her, covering her back up, before writing a quick verse and stealing out of the house.

…

Rosalie woke to Alice placing a tray of food in front of her. "Mister Poe has left for the day, he should return later tonight perhaps."

Rosalie sighed as she sat up, stretching her aching muscles. "That is alright," she said brushing the curls out of her face, "I will most likely be at the theater then."

"Would you like me to have a carriage waiting to bring you home?" Alice asked, not liking the idea of her being out so late at night.

"That would be great," Rosalie said with a tired smile before she began eating.

She returned home a little past midnight, grateful for the carriage, and went straight to the room Edgar kept made for her. She woke when the first rays of the sun hit her face, seeing a note on the bedside table. In Edgar's lovely handwriting was an address and a time. She smiled before getting up for the day, and preparing herself for going out.

She removed her bonnet and her gloves when she arrived at the address Edgar had given her, smiling at him when he took note of her. She listened as Mrs. Bradley read her poem, a simple thing about a butterfly and a bee in spring; until Edgar stopped her and remarked on her word use, turning the bee into a "honey making thing", deeming it genius.

Until he was interrupted as well, by several uniformed officers. "Mr. Poe," the police Captain said gravely. "You will be needing to come with us."

Rosalie watched shocked as Edgar left the officers, seeing him signal for her to wait as he walked passed her. She did not know if he wished for her to wait until he was released from the police station, or if he wanted her to wait and follow after him. She did the latter.

The Coachman helped her down from the carriage. "Are you sure you do not wish for me to wait?" he asked when she stepped down.

"That is alright," she said before paying him and entering the police station.

"What can I help with, ma'am?" an officer asked once she entered.

She removed her bonnett before turning to him. "I am looking for Edgar Poe."

The officer looked down at her surprised. "Why is it you are asking for Mister Poe?" he questioned her suspiciously.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "I am his sister," she answered coolly.

The young officer looked toward his captain, who had stepped forward. "Miss Poe," he greeted.

"Captain Eldridge," she greeted less kindly though still not rudely. "For what reason are you holding my brother?"

He looked at her sympathetically, his wife having begged him to buy tickets for the opera Rosalie Poe would be in a few nights from now; she did have a pretty voice. "A murder."


	3. a simple touch and just one glance

Detective Fields broke off mid sentence and looked up at the woman who burst into his office.  
"I'm sorry sir," Officer Cantrell said from behind her. "She insisted. I tried to keep her back," he explained holding her arm.

"Get your hands off me, I am a lady," she said irritably, pulling herself out of the officer's grasp and turning to the detective with hot eyes. His being handsome made only the smallest of recognitions in her mind.

"I'm sorry," Fields said as he stood, looking at the pretty woman, "who are you?"

"My sister," Edgar said looking at her fondly, pleased she had come for the questions had started turning sour.

"Ah," Fields breathed, now understanding, as he resumed sitting behind his desk; Rosalie Poe had been the next on his list to question.

"Is he under arrest?" she asked crossly, struggling between wanting to go home with her brother and wanting to slap him for whatever it was he'd done.

"No," Fields said gently.

"There's been a murder," Edgar said interrupting Fields, his tone as nonchalant as though he said the sky was blue but Rosalie could see in his eyes he was upset. "A woman with her throat cut and another body in the chimney. The room was locked from the inside and the murderer escaped through a locked window." He explained this all quickly, not giving himself the time to enrich his words; he'd hardly taken a breath at all.

Fields kept his eyes on Miss Poe, watching as her brows drew together in deep thought.  
The thought raging through her head was that the murder sounded so familiar, as though she had seen it before. And then she realized she hadn't _seen _it, she'd _read_ it. "Murders in the Rue Morgue?" she asked confused, wondering why her brother was being questioned for a fictitious murder.

Edgar smiled, wholly pleased she had known his story well enough to catch the similarity. He then turned to the detective to see him watching his sister closely.

"How familiar are you with your brother's stories?" he asked her, watching her heavily.

She looked at him, realizing Edgar hadn't described his tale but had described an actual murder. "I know them all," she answered truthfully. And she did, Edgar either read them to her or sent a copy for her to read; she loved his words, and he loved her praise.

"May I see your hands?" Fields asked, knowing there was no way her hand could have wrapped around the child's throat. But he still needed to see. He could see the wary look in her eye before she stepped forward and removed her glove. He reached for her hand, his eyes flicking to hers on that first touch, holding it palm up in his own. The span of her palm and fingers was barely more than the length of his middle finger; it was as he'd suspected, she was not the killer. Though in truth he'd never thought she was. But now he was completely satisfied.

Rosalie held her tongue, knowing any remark would do more harm than good; but she breathed a small sigh of relief when the detective sat back obviously casting aside any suspicions he had against her. She took a step back, standing behind Edgar's chair. In truth she was feeling flushed – she could still feel the warmth from his hand on hers, from his eyes on her, something she cursed herself for.

A look into Detective Field's mind would show that he was feeling the same. She was taller than average but she was thin, and she had such small hands; they were sweet and delicate, like her voice. He cleared his throat and looked at her, shaking any other thought than the murder from his mind. "Can you account for Mister Poe's whereabouts two nights ago?" he asked her plainly.

Rosalie sighed grievously as she thought back. "I had just arrived in town,"  
"You do not live here?" Fields questioned, grabbing a quill and a paper.

Rosalie looked at him, startled at how quick his question had come. "No,"  
"Where is it you live?" he asked immediately after, barely giving her a chance to think. He waited as she blinked, seeing she was not used to interrogations.

"This is Rosalie Poe," Officer Cantrell said, seeing she was growing flustered under the stress of the questions.

Fields, Rosalie, and Edgar all turned their heads to look at the young officer, making him nearly blush. "Yes," Fields said slowly.

"She is an opera singer," Cantrell said in explanation. "She's just returned from New York, she'll star in an opera in our theater. I bought tickets for the Mrs.," he said, the last part aimed at Rosalie's questioning eyes. "She says not even the angels sing prettier. You do have a lovely voice." He nearly ducked his head at all their eyes on his face.

Rosalie pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. "I thank you kindly."

Fields kept his eyes glued to her face, hearing her sweet voice as she spoke. He waited until she turned back to him to continue. "You had just arrived in town."

"Yes, it was around supper time," she told him. "I fell asleep and when I woke Edgar was home. It was a few hours before dawn."

Fields scratched a few notes as he nodded. "How did you know he was home?"

"He was sitting beside me," she answered and his brows rose. He watched as she raised her eyes to the ceiling and pursed her lips. "And yes I know how that sounds."

Fields felt the corner of his mouth raise and he finished writing his note. Her brother was not the killer either. "It seems you can be accounted for, Mister Poe," Fields said, seeing Poe relax. "Yet what cannot be disputed is that your imagination is the inspiration of a horrendous crime."

Edgar was not so relaxed at those words. "Am I to be charged then?" Edgar demanded. "Is imagination now a felony?"

Rosalie placed her hand on Edgar's shoulder, a touch that almost made him flinch in his current state though he calmed. They were all interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Inspector," the Captain said breathlessly, "can I have a word?"

Rosalie and Edgar stared at Detective Fields as the Captain whispered something in his ear. Rosalie was immediately on guard when the detective's eyes flicked to Edgar, and then to her. "There has been another murder."


	4. horror filled eyes haunt her mind

"You know Mister Poe's stories better than our officers, your eyes would give us a most keen insight," Detective Fields said aside to Rosalie before they entered the building. She hesitated, not wishing to see the body of a deceased man. "You don't have to do this, Miss Poe," the detective said quietly, soothingly.

She looked up at him, seeing he was waiting for her answer. "Do you think it would help?" she asked meekly.

"I believe it might," he told her. "You are not the author, therefore the way you see the crimes will be different than your brother's. You have the knowledge we need and are the least connected to both crime and story."

She looked away from him, wringing her hands together absentmindedly as she thought. "People are dying, Detective Fields, and somehow my brother has a part in all the horror. How could I refuse?" she asked him.

That had been the first time Fields had seen the strength that lay in her, and it had impressed him. But she was a woman, a young woman, and she was afraid. "Miss Poe," he said catching her before returned to her brother's side. He walked to stand in front of her, looking down into her sweet brown eyes. "Should it be too much for you, I will escort you out as quickly as I can," he said hoping to give her some ease – and he did, though only a little.

All ease left her as she gazed upon the body, which was covered by a bloodstained white cloth – two white cloths for his body had been cut in half by a very large pendulum. She walked behind Edgar, resisting the childish urge to grab his hand and hold fast.

"We have reason to believe you knew the victim," Fields said as he followed after the Poe siblings.

"Really?" Edgar asked, thinking that of course someone he knew would be killed – it was just his luck.

Detective Fields kept his eyes on Rosalie's face when the top portion of the man was uncovered, keeping to his word that he would take her from the building if she was too overwhelmed. He watched her raise a hand to her mouth, hearing her small intake of breath as she looked upon the dead man. There were no tears, no gagging; she stared only in saddened horror at the dead man, and so he turned his eyes to her brother to question him.

Rosalie didn't listen to a word that was said, she was too hypnotized by the pained terror on the man's face. She realized then that something she'd heard was true; you do wear your last emotion on your face when you are dead. It was a thought that chilled her to the bone, for such pain this man had been exposed to before he'd finally died – such fear. And it was all written plainly in his wide unseeing eyes.

"Will no one close his eyes?"

Fields looked at her, seeing she was pale and slightly shaking. Her voice was as sweet as sugar, too gentle a thing to be exposed to something as gruesome as this. "They will be after photographs are taken," he said quietly, stepping closer to her. "Are his eyes bothering you?" he asked worriedly for Captain Eldridge had already covered the man again; she could not see his eyes.

She could feel the tears swelling in her throat, knowing they would shine in her eyes in only moments. It was all too awful for her to bear.

Fields could see she was distressing, he could see it in her creased brow. But in a moment it was gone, and her face was calm as she breathed deeply. He looked down to see Poe had wrapped his forefinger around her smaller one, offering her the only comfort he could. "Perhaps you need a bit of fresh air," Fields offered kindly, taking her by the elbow and waiting until she let him lead her toward the door.

"Yes," she said nearly sighing looking up at him. "I think I just need to breathe."

He watched as she quickly left the room and he turned to Officer Cantrell. "Go with her," he ordered, casting a last look at her retreating form and then back to the crime and the inspiration for it all.

…

Rosalie took a deep breath once she'd exited, her head spinning and her eyes feeling swollen. She brushed aside the officer's concerns, leaning her back against the bricks and steadying herself. It was not much later that Edgar came out, and by then she had composed herself once more.

"Did you find anything?" she asked when he came to her.

Edgar opened his mouth to tell her but he stopped himself. He turned to see the detective and he took the red mask out of his hands. "What is this?" he asked holding it out for Rosalie to see.

She looked at him perturbed before taking the strange mask. She thought of all the things it could mean, and then realized she should compare it to Edgar's writing; that was when she arrived at the answer. "Mask of the Red Death?" she asked not entirely certain.

Edgar took the mask, pleasure written on his face. "I knew you liked my work," he said before clapping her gently on the shoulder.

"Why is he doing this?" she asked softly, still seeing the man's dead eyes.

"It is a taunt," Edgar told her, taking Detective Field's idea. "He wishes me to know when he will strike next. But why?" he asked fervently. "_That_ is the question."

Rosalie looked at her brother, seeing the thoughts racing through his mind. "Perhaps he isn't taunting you," she offered causing Edgar to stop and stare at her, as well as Fields who had overheard her.

"What do you think he is doing?" Fields asked, causing Edgar to look at him irked for he himself had been about to ask his sister that same thing.

Rosalie looked away from the detective, not wishing to lead them wrong for a thought she had only just had. But both the detective and her brother were waiting impatiently. "Perhaps," she started slowly, "he is trying to show you how much he likes your work," she finished, though it sounded more a question.

"A fan," Fields said softly to himself, storing that idea in his mind to go over later.

Edgar simply nodded, having already figured the man to be a fan – the killer was using _his_ works after all. "Come," he said quickly, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward a carriage.

"Where are we going?" she asked letting him pull her, looking back briefly at Detective Fields to see he was following.

"To speak with Hamilton," Edgar answered.

Rosalie took Edgar's hand and stepped into the carriage and looked at her brother when he sat beside her. "But he does not like you," she said and he looked over at her.

"Which is precisely why are you coming," Edgar told her, hoping she would be enough to keep Emily's father from kicking him out on the street.

"What does that have to do with "The Mask of the Red Death"?" she asked not able to figure it out on her own.

Edgar sighed, raising his eyes to look above. "Because, Lee, a masked ball is being held for Emily's birthday," he said wearily.

"Edgar Allan Poe," Rosalie exclaimed crossly, surprising both Edgar and Fields with her tone. "Do not speak to me as though I am a fool for not knowing about an event when you know full well I have no knowledge of it."

Fields looked between the siblings entirely amused; the younger sister sounding very much older than her brother, staring at him sternly as a mother would – and the brother looking down thoroughly chastised. Rosalie Poe was a strong woman, that much was evident by the steel in her spine after what she had just witnessed. And he hated to admit it, but he was starting to like her.

* * *

_I'm trying to stay true to how women acted in the early 19th century, which they usually acted weak and dainty. But with a brother like Poe, and reading all his gruesome stories, I figured she should have some strength - even if it is a little. Also, people fell in love a lot quicker back then than they do now, which is good cause there's not too much time for romance in the movie. Thank you all for reading, and please let me know how you think I'm doing or if I need to change anything. Reviews are the only way I know if what I'm writing is any good._


	5. no one told me about sorrow

Detective Fields left Rosalie and Edgar to watch Emily play the piano for a crowd of people. Edgar hid himself behind a curtain, hoping to remain unseen, and Rosalie stood a little behind him as she watched the woman her brother had fallen in love with – she had not thought it would happen again, and Emily was so very beautiful.

"What is he doing here?" Hamilton demanded a few minutes later, charging toward Edgar.

"He is with me and we were just leaving," Fields said trying to calm the man down before he did anything rash.

"Hello Captain," Edgar greeted, "just wanted to prove how easy it was to penetrate the breech. I presume the police are here to keep me out."

Rosalie almost sighed in defeat at her brother's rash decisions, knowing he was instigating Hamilton's anger more than anything else – something Fields was thinking as well.

"Are you telling me, Inspector Fields," Hamilton said crossly, "that Poe is part of your investigation?"

"Mister Poe has a unique perspective pertaining to the crimes," Fields explained.

"Is the killer a raving alcoholic an opium addict or an atheist?" Hamilton demanded rudely, shocking Rosalie at his distaste for her brother though she knew Edgar was not an easy man to like and so she held her tongue.

"An atheist?" Edgar asked surprised. "Ah, you misconstrue me sir."

"If you know what is good for you, Mister Poe, you will stay away from my daughter," Hamilton warned, giving Edgar a hard look even Rosalie wanted to shrink away from.

"Father," Emily said coming to distract him from Edgar, "I've decided to change my costume for the ball tomorrow."

"No," he said roughly before turning away from her. "Mr. Fields I am happy to indulge your request but I assure you if I see this man tomorrow night you will have to protect him from me."

"Why do we need more security?" Emily asked confused.

"It appears my writing is the inspiration to an actual killer," Edgar answered her and Rosalie rolled her eyes – he did not have to sound so flattered. "If I had known my work would have such a morbid effect on people I would have devoted more time to eroticism."

Rosalie almost groaned her frustration, ready to just turn and walk away. "You are a vile man," Hamilton said and she could not agree more in that moment, for she did not see the humor her brother did. Rosalie looked to Emily when she felt the woman's eyes on her. Emily gave her a queer look before turning to her father again.

"Father," Emily said, making her voice as sweet as she could. "This is Edgar's sister, Rosalie Poe."

"The opera singer," he said noticing Rosalie for the first time.

Fields nearly smiled at how Rosalie looked as though she wished to shrink away from Hamilton's gaze.

"It is a pleasure to meet you sir," Rosalie told him kindly, not wishing him to speak to her as he had her brother.

"Emily has told me your voice is beyond compare," he said appraising her.

"It truly is," Emily said smiling at her. "Perhaps you could sing for us," she suggested, pleading to Rosalie with her eyes.

Rosalie opened her mouth to refuse but Edgar beat her to it. "She would love to," he said for her and she turned to give him an incredulous look.

She looked back to see Hamilton and Emily both waiting for her to speak. "I would love to," she said reluctantly.

"Wonderful," Emily said feigning joy. "I will play the piano."

Edgar was at her side smiling over her head at Emily, and then he grunted when Rosalie punched him in the stomach stealing his breath. She turned back to Hamilton to see surprise on his face, as well as Emily and Fields'. "That was for the both of us," she told him as she brushed a curl out of her face, giving him a strained smile.

He laughed loudly before offering her his arm and she took it letting him lead her to the front of the room. "Will you be attending the ball tomorrow?"

"I did not know my presence would be welcome," she told him with a small smile.

He laughed and smiled down at her. "You are most welcome," he informed her, and just as pleasant as his smile was it was gone in a flash; "Your brother is not."

She nodded before stepping up beside Emily. "What am I supposed to sing?"

Fields looked after Rosalie, seeing she had been roped into a scheme to distract Hamilton from Edgar – one she had not been pleased to be apart of. He had been dismissed, there was no reason to remain in the residence, but he wished to hear the voice that was so highly acclaimed; and he was not disappointed in the slightest.

Emily played a soft, sad, melody on the piano and Rosalie stood beside her.

_"Dusk is a-lingering in empty streets_

_Evening is climbing the hollow stairs_

_No one told me about sorrow_

_No one said I'd be lonely."_

Her voice was soft, as pretty as a bird song. Fields watched her enraptured as she seemed to bloom, just as all the rest of the people in the room sat reveling in the beauty.

_"Walking the floors until light of dawn_

_Keeping one sorrow for company_

_Eyes I thought I had forgotten_

_Bright eyes shine in my soul." _

The power of her voice surprised him, the way she soared into note effortlessly; her face calm and dreamy as her voice lilted through the room. He felt as though he himself had woken from a dream when she ceased singing, taking a deep breath as he gathered himself.

"We will take you both home," Fields said when Rosalie moved back toward them.

"Yes I think that would be best," Hamilton said coming up behind them, glowering at Edgar. "I will see you tomorrow night, Miss Poe," he said pleasantly to her and she nodded giving him a small smile.

"I had not thought you a person to be reluctant to sing in front of others," Fields mused as they walked toward where the carriage was.

"I'm not," she told him looking up at him, "when I have something prepared."

He smiled nodding. "You sang beautifully," he told her quietly, seeing a small blush bloom on her cheeks.

"Thank you detective," she told him sweetly before taking his hand and stepping up into the carriage.

* * *

_The song I used is Dusk by Sissel, which I suggest listening to because she has a beautiful voice. _


	6. masquerade, paper faces on parade

_masquerade. paper faces on parade, masquerade. hide your face so the world will never find you. masquerade. seething shadows breathing lies, masquerade. you can fool any friend who ever knew you._

"Edgar," Rosalie yelled the moment she woke.

"Yes," her brother said sleepily as he walked into her room, pausing at the sight of her in only an underdress – it was entirely indecent, but she really was very pretty. Especially with her mane of dark curls framing her face.

"Can you please remove Karl from my bed?" she asked looking down at the raccoon curled against her hip.

He might have laughed if not for the pillow she would have thrown at him. In truth Rosalie liked the raccoon, he was rather sweet when he wanted to be, but he also made her nervous; he was a wild animal, and she would much rather not get bitten by him. "Of course," he said with a smile before plucking his sleeping pet from beside her. "Are you going to get ready for the party?" he asked nonchalantly.

"I am," she answered as she got out of the bed. "Alice is helping me with my dress, and I presume with your attire as well." She did not miss the moment of guilt at being caught that flashed in his eyes, though it was quickly erased.

"I honestly do not know of what it is you speak," he said embellishing his words, making her roll her eyes.

"Alright, so if I see a man that resembles you I will know it must not be you for you will be here," she said holding her hands up.

"Precisely," he agreed with a nod before leaving the room, not wishing to see his sister in the nude.

Her gown wasn't exactly white, it was a cream, with beautiful embroidery along the bust and over the skirt. There were pearls stitched into the center of a pattern all along the skirt of the dress; she thought it might have been the most beautiful thing she'd ever worn. After Alice fitted it to Rosalie's bust, and hemmed the skirt for she was taller than average, it was the time Captain Hamilton had arranged for a carriage to arrive.

The captain's house was enormous, that was all she could say. It was bigger than most of the theaters she'd performed in, and though she might have been what some considered famous she was honestly not accustomed to such wealth.

"Miss Poe," Hamilton greeted warmly when he saw her. "You look positively beautiful."

"Thank you," she said feeling a small blush on her cheeks. "You have a lovely home."

"I'm sure you have seen finer," he said glancing her over before turning to the detective, "excuse me."

Fields looked back to Rosalie, seeing her eyes taking in the large place with delight; he did not think she had seen finer, and it made him wonder. He had assumed she was wealthy, hers was a well known name, but she did not act as though she were. It was as he followed Hamilton that he realized it was highly possible Rosalie used whatever wealth she had to support her brother – which he knew Edgar was not well off and spent money rampantly.

Rosalie smiled at the guests who came up to her, recognizing her either from an opera or from when she sang yesterday. She exchanged pleasantries, something she did not enjoy doing, before slipping on her mask and becoming anonymous. She was almost relieved when people began to pass her by, still looking at her curiously, though they did not hail her.

All in all the party was as she expected – wealthy folk coming together to flaunt their status and derive those who could not make it up to par. These were the worst parts of being an opera singer, the mingling with the rich guest who assumed that since she was well known she was well off. It was why she had liked Detective Fields so much, he did not expect anything from her; nothing but the truth. He did not demand her attention, her praise, nor did he want to flaunt her status or flaunt his. He was an average man, though officers were looked upon as lowly; but she liked him. He was a good, honest man.

And looking around at all the guests in their highly expensive gowns or suits adorned with jewels, their showy jewelry and their extravagant masks; all she really wanted an average man. If it would not have been impolite to decline, she would have. But instead she was here, sipping a fine wine, smiling until her cheeks hurt from how false it was.

That was where Fields found her, or rather he ran into her.

He was chasing a man in a devil's costume, thinking him to be the killer, only to be wrong. He had been careless as he pushed his way through people, trying to catch the monster. And so he looked to the last person he had shoved aside to see a dark haired woman. "My deepest apologies, Miss Poe," he said looking her over, berating himself for stopping at the swell of her breasts.

"That is alright," she told him as she pulled her mask off. "Did you see him?"

Fields looked back to the old man in the devil's mask. "I am afraid not, it was only a scare."

She looked down to see the gun in his hand and she glanced up at him with a brow raised. "A rather large scare," she said softly and he hastily reholstered his weapon.

The shattering of glass and the pounding of hooves had both she and him turning to see a man dressed as the grim reaper atop a horse. Fields wrapped an arm around Rosalie and pulled her out of the way of the horse, holding her close so as not to lose her in the swarming crowd. He felt her hands holding the lapels of his coat, seeking refuge in his arms. He would later remark on the feel of holding her, and then of how her hair had smelled of lavender. But at the moment he released his hold on her and redrew his gun before racing toward the man.

She felt so exposed when he let her go, her body cold where he had once been holding her. People were screaming and running and she struggled to look for Edgar. "Lee," he said loudly when he saw her and she turned holding out her hand for him.

"Where is Emily?" she asked, having seen the two dancing. She looked up at him when he did not answer, seeing his eyes afraid and searching. "Edgar?"

"She's gone."

* * *

_So what I had in mind for Rosalie's gown is Christine Daae's dress when she sang Think of Me. Only there was one picture, which I think was taken with just a regular camera of the cast, which had pretty poor lighting and the gown looked almost like a creamy green.  
I'm going on a plane today, so please leave me a review for when I get off - it'd really make my day. _


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